I glanced in the direction she was pointing. In front, just far enough off to cause the outlines to be a little obscured by the mist, was a figure I seemed to recognise. I quickened my steps.
"Lawrence! Philip Lawrence!"
Although his back was turned to us, I could not but suspect that he had seen us first. Because, scarcely had I spoken, than, darting into the road, he sprang into a passing cab without troubling to stop it, shouted some direction to the driver, which I could not catch, and in an instant was away. To pursue and leave the lady there was out of the question. I waited till she came up.
"Are you sure that it was Lawrence?" I inquired.
"Certain! I have only seen him once, but then under circumstances which make it impossible that I ever could mistake him. There is a portrait of the man upon my brain—life-size. Wherever and whenever I see him I shall know that it is he."
"It is odd that he should have run away."
I was puzzled; not only by his flight, but by the rapidity with which it had been performed.
"Yes, it is odd. What's that?"
A note of fear was in her voice. She came closer to me. I saw that her face had suddenly
